


Lost Time

by ClarenceJ



Series: Misunderstandings [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Caring John Watson, Doctor/Patient, Fluff, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, John Watson is a Good Doctor, Mistakes, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarenceJ/pseuds/ClarenceJ
Summary: Set after Misunderstanding, the reader has been having troublesome migraines for the past few weeks but hasn't thought anything of it until they are suddenly in the middle of London wet and without memory. You lose time and who better to help you figure out what happened than doctor and sleuth John Watson?
Relationships: John Watson/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Misunderstandings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697947
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in Sherlock.  
> I really wanted a hurt/comfort John Watson where he and the reader weren't dating or involved. Thanks for reading this work, I hope you like it! Make sure to leave kudos and comments!

After the whole encounter with Dr. Watson, you were doing pretty well. Over the next four weeks, everything has been going as it normally would have but that was the perfect time for things to go downhill. The phone connection in your apartment went out frequently and according to your super, there was no way to fix it leaving you isolated from home and family. Another problem was that the weather was beginning to sour. The weather channel had said it would be this way for quite a while and you definitely believed it. The changing pressure gave you near-constant migraines and headaches that frequently left you bedridden. So, you had pulled on your big-kid pants and gone to the doctors for migraine relief medication. Simple, right?

That’s where you had been wrong. The Saturday started out like normal with a grey sky and a light sprinkle but the longer you stay out of bed, the more your neck began to cramp. You took the usual precautions like turning down the lights and shutting your curtains, but it was no use still. From the morning, it’s developed from a dull throb to a loud roar. _‘Should have taken these meds earlier’_ you think to yourself as you bump into the couch for the fifth time since shutting the lights off.

Your cotton dry mouth reminds you you haven’t had anything to drink in hours and the thought of ingesting anything makes your stomach turn along with your head. The blaring microwave is almost unbearable as your meal heats, so you rest your head on the counter for one second and close your eyes to relax into blissful darkness.

The first thing you’re aware of is the long blast of a car horn in the distance and the chatter of people walking along the street. The light pitter-patter of rain slowly comes into your reality as does the fact your head no longer hurts. The last thing that breaks through your haze is your cold and wet clothes weighing you down.

You spin, whipping your head around and look at your surroundings, taking stock of the fact there are people staring at you before simply avoiding you. _‘Call someone’_ your survival instinct tells you, but when you reach for your phone it’s not there. Just a flat pocket.

There’s the whisper of instinct again. _‘Phonebooth.’_ You see one up the street and bear the rain a little longer until you shut yourself in. _‘Next step?’_ You pat your pockets down, running across a slight bump in one of them. Pulling out the soggy piece of paper you recognize John’s card from when you first met. _‘He’ll help. He said he’ll_ help’ your thoughts hope as a frenzied panic begins to bubble up. With trembling fingers, you insert the bit of change you have left at the bottom of your pocket and dial.

The trilling of the line has you trembling in anticipation but it stops and gives way to a deep voice that’s vaguely recognizable. “Who is this?”

Your throat tightens at the last minute so your words come out croaked and whispy, “John? I’m looking for Dr. Watson.” You feel as though you can barely continue so you just stop there as you also realize it’s the roommate.

There’s noise on the opposite end and you can hear John ask who it could be before accepting the phone. “This is Dr. Watson,” he answers professionally. That’s when the tears start to roll down your face and your shaking increases. Your throat closes on you and you feel like the words won't come out. “Hello? Who is this?” he asks again as the line is quiet.

You sniff for a second before composing yourself enough to speak clearly. “Uh-hi-I’m s-sorry to call so late Dr. Watson but it’s y/n, from the roof a few weeks ago and you gave me your card and told me to call you if-if-,” you try to continue but he cuts you off.

“Y/n, are you safe? Do you need help? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” he immediately goes into doctor mode. It’s like a switch has been flipped. Just him asking if you need help sends you more into a tailspin with body shaking sobs you’re unable to hold back. You shove the phone against your shoulder to muffle the sobs before putting it back to your ear.

“N-o-o-, yes, uh I don’t know, I’m sorry! I think I lost time. I can’t remember anything past six today a-a-and I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what’s happening.” Your last phrase sounds weak, pitiful actually.

“Alright, alright, calm down. Describe where you are, my flatmate and I will find you.” You hear more sound on the other end, probably grabbing their coats, as you look around for any type of landmarks.

“Uh, um, down the street there's a sign that says- uh Camden Market? Does that make sense? Does that help at all?”

“Yes! That's perfect. Now, I’m going to need you to stay put right where you are. Do you understand? Can you do that for me?” The ‘yes’ comes out less confident than you’d like but you feel immediate relief knowing someone is coming to help you out of this terrifying mess. “I’m going to hang up now but I need you to stay right by the telephone in case I ring it. I’ll be there shortly but stay by the phone.”

“Okay, yeah, I'll try.” The minutes are absolutely agonizing and endless as you hang on the edge of losing your mind to panic, but eventually, a cab pulls up a little way down the street and two people step out, looking around wildly. You wave one arm in the air to get their attention and bring them over to you. Your mind lets out a giant sigh of relief at them being here, so it allows your emotions to fall down that precipice its been hanging on to.

You slouch over your legs as you let out the sobs you've been holding onto. The cathartic release is everything you need and more as John arrives and kneels down to look at your face better. “Y/n? Y/n? Are you alright? Let me look at you,” he instructs firmly, very matter-of-factly despite your state. “Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need to go to hospital?” Now that one you know you can answer, so you shake your head no and continue on crying.

“Y/n,” John’s voice is stern this time and you can tell he needs you to focus, "Breathe for me. We’re going back to your flat and we’ll figure out what happened. It’ll be alright.” That reassurance is a clearing force for your crowded mind. He must hail a cab because the next thing you know, you’re pressed between the two of them heading back to your apartment so John must have remembered the address. The roommate is silent the whole way there.

It’s not as long of a drive as you thought and John helps you out when you get there. He lets you go to autopilot and watches as you blankly move through the motions of getting to your apartment and leading them in, turning on lights and tidying up blankets.

“Uh-,” you cough nervously, “Would you like coffee? Fair warning it’s pretty bad but it’s better than my tea”. Again, John’s flatmate doesn’t seem the least bit interested in you and instead looks as though he’s scanning over every part of your place with his eyes like how a machine would catalog everything. John, on the other hand, is watching you with clinical precision like he did a few months ago. It’s enough to make you shift back and forth. He opens his mouth to say something but the roommate beats him to it.

“How long have you been having the migraines?” You open your mouth but he beats you to that too. “How can I tell?” You nod your head. “All light sources are turned directly away from any chair, even the desk, especially the desk,” he emphasizes with a flare of his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t be able to stand any light unless you had to, and I do believe you’ve tried judging by the scuff marks on the floor from where you’ve bumped into chairs and tables and the sofa multiple times. Judging by the bags under your eyes, I would say it’s been three weeks on and off, but mostly on especially these past few days.”

Holy shit. “That’s pretty cool.” He only smirks in response.

John clears his throat, shifting a little and pinching his brows. “What’s the last thing you remember? On the phone you said you couldn’t remember anything past six, so nearly five hours of lost memory,” he trails off slightly. "That's quite unusual."

“Um, I was sitting down to eat but I don’t remember eating, or putting anything away, or cleaning at all. I mean I must have because nothing is out,” you conclude. "I mean I remember making something but other than that I don't-," you trail off again. 

“Well, then what’s the first thing you remember when you were at Camden?”

“It’s was like I just woke up. I was at my table one second, then in the middle of the street the next, soaking wet and I didn’t have anything on me. That’s why I called you from the payphone.”

The roommate turns sharply at this. “How did you know to call John? Where’s your mobile?”

You pat your pockets as you realize he’s right and you had forgotten you don’t have your phone on you or even in your jacket. You take a quick look around and don’t see it anywhere either. “When I came over a few weeks ago, that was the first time we had met and he gave me his card. I must have forgotten to take it out of my pocket when I got back. I don’t know where my phone is either.” You stand behind your kitchen table looking out at the rest of your flat as you try to remember the last thing you did with it. The thoughts that pop up are blurry but they’re from this morning and nothing after that.

“Do you use?” You furrow your brow. The question came from John who’s staring at you to gauge your reaction, then the lightbulbs comes on.

“Use? Oh! No! I don’t do drugs. I mean I rarely even drink.”

“Do you take anything? Medicines then? If there was no physical trigger then it could be a chemical one,” he supplies and his friend hums in agreement. You nod your head and move to grab them when John asks to see them. There’s a sigh further in the small apartment a few minutes later where John emerges from the bathroom with two of your prescriptions.

He looks at you expectantly. “I think I’ve found the cause right here,” he nods to the two bottles. “Muscle relaxant and anti-anxiety medications. Huh, Sherlock take a look at these,” John’s brow furrows as he looks at the two labels again. “They shouldn’t have filled these.”

Now it’s your turn to be confused. “That doesn’t make sense. I brought the anxiety script with me when I went to the doctor’s and they said they would be fine and wouldn’t interact.”

The roommate, Sherlock, scoffs harshly. “They’re idiots then because I’m not a doctor and even I know these two can easily cause time loss. You’d be better off with a monkey as your general.”

“Not everybody can be a bloody genius like you,” John mutters under his breath and Sherlock smirks back.

“Well, then why would they fill them? This has never happened before-,” you stop yourself. Little bits and flashes come to mind of episodes Netflix has said you’ve watched, times you felt like you’d been sitting for hours on end, and times where you’d gone through your evening routine without knowing it. “It has,” you whisper faintly. The reality of what’s been going on crashes around you and it feels like the sky is falling and your ears ring.

“Y/n? Y/n! Sit down. Sherlock get a glass of water,” John’s voice muddles through your haze. It’s like déjà-vu as you get stuck in remembering days that never happened and things you thought you did. “Y/n?” You finally snap out of it when you feel his fingers dig into your wrist. _‘Taking pulse’_ your brain supplies half-heartedly. “What did you say before? This has happened before? The lost time?” You nod your head yes. “Alright then, well first things first I’m going to call your general and you’re going to be one of my patients. As such I’m going to take you off of these medicines, right?” You nod again.

“It looks as though you have this covered here. I’ll meet you back at the flat,” the roommate, _‘Sherlock’_ you correct yourself, rumbles.

“I’m going to prescribe another migraine medicine for you that should last until this weather clears up, then the lost time should stop. You did the right thing ringing me, although,” his voice lightens and a smile plays at his lips in an ‘I’m not smiling’ way only the British can do, “I was worried you were having another emotional crisis not fueled by a lost glove.” Like a few weeks ago he causes a nervous laugh to appear and the tightness in your chest releases.

“Thank you Dr. Watson. I don’t think I would have realized what was going on until something bad happened. I mean I didn’t even notice I lost time until I was standing in the rain in the dark, so thank you for being there. I would also really appreciate a primary who knew what they were doing,” you laugh brightly and he follows your lead with his own warm laugh.

You take one look at the clock and give a start at how late it’s gotten. “I’m so sorry for keeping you so late! Please enjoy your Sunday tomorrow and I’ll call the office this week to get everything sorted out, and I’ll try to stay out of trouble for at least that long,” you smile and you think he appreciates you noticing the time.

“I’m glad that I could help. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do or if you need help again. Good night y/n,” he nods with a half smile on his face and disappears out your door leaving you in your empty apartment with a plan and some peace of mind for the time being.


End file.
